Aug 2015
To_
Music ,when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory...
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves , when the rose is dead ,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed
And so their thoughts, when you are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
As the moon glows upon trees
The birds will sing a song so pretty only
To_
Music ,when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory...
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves , when the rose is dead ,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed
And so their thoughts, when you are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
As the moon glows upon trees
The birds will sing a song so pretty only
To_
